I guess I could really knock myself out with this stuff! 🙂
Midwest genius! Andrew is the Midwestern Vasa Ladački!
Pass the bottle! 🙂
A rogue is a rogue; he eats in the thorns, sleeps in the mud, but maybe he never gets as dirty as a regular man! 🧐
Andrew Cordash, an orphan from the war,
a small man with bright eyes,
a group of pigs, a flickering fire,
the Mississippi marshes and depths,
the vast Midwestern sky,
he had two dogs, two friends,
it wasn't master and servant,
it was genuine friendship.
People say he was young,
he loved a beautiful holiday,
but illness took her early,
like a lone wolf, he hid his grief,
he didn't cry or drink at the tavern,
only he knows how he found peace,
if you asked him why he lived like that,
why he wouldn't seek wealth,
he would just say,
let others dream of getting rich.
Because happiness isn't about having much,
happiness belongs to the one who needs little,
you can't buy luck with gold,
all the world's treasures are worthless,
pitiful is the one led astray by greed,
spending a whole life just piling up coins,
it's all for nothing,
when there is no peace in the soul.
In the dreamy blue rural dawn,
a flute played along the wide road,
his song woke up the street,
and all the bosses wanted him,
even his pigs ate better near him,
who knows why, maybe they lacked kindness too,
and he knew how to say, a rogue is a rogue,
eating in the thorns, sleeping in the mud,
but maybe he never gets as dirty as a regular man.
Andrew did things his own way,
people talked about him all over town,
people are people, always finding something to complain about,
but he just lived how he wanted,
and with that little bit, he was happy,
joking about sorrow and joy,
life is a road, so pick your path,
but it's useless to grab and hoard,
because you won't take any of it with you up there.
The years fled, it's always like that,
and even he aged slowly,
and the flute was heard less often in the early morning,
good times pass, bad times pass,
old streets vanished,
and then came a time that felt strange to him,
the rogues were gone, the masters were gone,
the woods and the farms were gone,
and with them, the last of the Cordashs.
Andrew died quietly,
just how those kinds of people die,
without many tears or sad verses,
the priest said only a few words,
rest his soul, for he was greater,
than anyone would say just by looking at him,
only the Mississippi paused for a moment,
only the willow dipped its branches,
people swear they heard the dogs crying....
Scott Hall5 said:I remember the unknown from the late seventies, early eighties, a good vibe, the crew from the unknown would show up, mostly actors, a hazy atmosphere, singing everything under the sun, you're right, the high waiter Andrew, something happened, (though I don't recall what!) so I stopped going....
And everything was being knocked back at 16 ......
The crew from Gavella used to swing by unknown, too. There were all sorts of actors, musicians, bohemians... honestly, the vibe there was just unreal. You’d see guys like Šovagović, Šerbedžija, Vidović, and Nadarević just hanging out. It wasn't fancy drinks, just great energy. And back then, you didn't even have to be 18 to grab a beer at a pub. I was going there when I was only 14! 😁 (I can't even count how many times I caught the last #11 bus heading toward downtown—if I remember right, it was around 1:05 AM, maybe...). They played some really good music there, too.
